Digital Tart

The Phoenix Duck

The sun rose over Market Harborough and glittered off
the glazed towers of the regional police headquarters. Medway sipped
a breakfast coffee in the staff canteen atop the largest tower,
staring at the town bathed in the reflected dawn glaring off the
police building. It was almost certainly accidental, but to Medway
it said ‘we are watching you’.

"Ready to go?" Officer Jedman joined her
without an invitation, her unofficial minder and guardian whilst she
was in town.

"Scared." Blunt and true, a perfect summary of
the moment. "There was a guy at Oxford, told me to see the
shrink. I think I might have to do it – getting shot at all the
time is starting to screw my head up."

The video stream lasted a few tens of seconds – a hazy
view of rough meadow, the sound of ragged breathing and a faint,
distant hammering rumble. Without warning the first helicopter
roared into view, its companion close behind. Medway watched Jedman
for a moment, as tendons tensed in his throat, then the memory of
helicopters took over, bearing down on the watcher. She closed her
eyes against the final moment – that made the images sharper –
and the hail of bullets came in.

"Shit!"

Medway opened her eyes and stared at Jedman. Coffee
dribbled over the side of the table, already splattered down his
tunic and trousers. His chest was heaving, an involuntary reaction
to the sudden stress.

"Gave me a fright," she conceded with a coldly
calm voice. "It seemed like such a good idea. Wait until they
were in range and then take my best shot. Never occurred to me that
they might lock on to my own targeting radar. Wasn’t really
thinking straight. Just wanted to get the bastards."

"No problem. Ever been shot at like that? Being
shot at inside a police barracks looks trivial. That’s twice now
that a helicopter tried to take me out."

"Yeah. Sorry." He was more shocked than
apologetic. "Got some good news for you. Sort of. We have an
ident on the chopper. Registered to Lilywhite Industries."

That name kept cropping up with suspicious regularity.
"Consistent. The man I’m supposed to talk to works for
Coriolis, a subsidiary of Lilywhite."

"What the hell is going on?" he demanded
abruptly. "The whole story just gets crazier all the time.
Helicopter gunships, cops being shot at, respectable companies
implicated."

"Not much I’m allowed to say," Medway
countered.

"OK..." He gave a her a long look, "You
in a hurry to get on? Or will this man you’re after wait?"

Medway sensed a trade-off in the air. "The sooner
the better."

"Could be a problem there." He nodded in an
irritatingly knowing way. "Deputy Commissioner's on his way in.
You’re not to leave until you explain everything to his
satisfaction."

"You have an alternative?"

Jedman scratched his chin. "Well, things are still
pretty screwed up. I could probably get you permission to depart –
if you can convince me it’s serious enough."

Medway composed a quick précis of events and sent it.
"Is that serious enough for you? Black-market cyber
enhancements, major corporate fraud and ongoing attempts on the lives
of police officers."

Jedman looked as shocked as when she had shown him the
last moments against the helicopter. "The travel authorisation
will take a few minutes to fix. I’ll have a word with control –
one of the choppers probably ought to run a routine surveillance
flight. North, maybe. Towards the motorway. Someone to watch your
back. Traffic control is working almost all the way to Sheffield
from here. Should be able to square it when the boss gets in."

"Thanks." Medway pulled out her supply of
infocards and selected one. "I hope I don’t need this – but
it should help you."

"What is it?" he asked, finding that it
refused to respond to his queries.

"A full record and statement from the senior
officer at Oxford. It will need a Commissioner's authorisation to
read."

"Tell me, Medway. What are you like when you get
angry?"

Lameduck was still operational – depending on your
definition. The workshop had repaired or replaced most of the
damaged antennae. It was far from perfect but good enough to give
Medway a few seconds warning should another helicopter try to wipe
her off the face of the earth.

Twenty minutes into the journey, the whole local traffic
net magically came back to life. A few seconds later, the police
comms net announced itself. Medway logged herself into the system
and reviewed the general status. It was still strictly local with no
scope to reach either Oxford or London, but it offered the hope that
other systems would be coming back on line. There was an implication
that the major net trunks were damaged – something which would be
partially circumvented once the local nets patched together.

At the motorway, Medway let Lameduck take charge –
manual driving would be faster, but the traffic nets were back on,
and Lameduck’s automation was currently sufficient, so she let it
drive and caught up on more sleep.

When Lameduck trumpeted a warning, she snapped awake.

“What?” Her heart was thundering. “Helicopters?”
Hands suddenly sweaty. “Engage emergency... wait... what the...?”
There was a small convoy travelling in the opposite direction, a
single large car with a half-dozen outriders, armoured personnel
carrier in the lead and its own aerial support. “Who the hell is
that?” Someone rich and important was on the move and taking no
chances. “Shit...”

Medway reviewed the blurred pictures and then ran an
enhancement routine over a shot of the troop vehicle. There was a
logo smeared along the side which slowly sharpened up as the software
massaged the jumbled data.

"Lilywhite." The image was still rough, but
now intelligible. She tapped into the police net which told her
nothing.

<Sheffield control: Unauthorised access.
Identification required.>

Medway blinked and checked the time. She had come
further than she realised. <Medway: Officer Lianne Medway.>
She sent the précis she had done for Jedman.

<Sheffield control: Do not attempt to transfer your
vehicle to manual drive.>

There was no explanation, just a generic threat.
Lameduck drove on unperturbed, not even announcing any sort of
warning when a pair of helicopters took up station overhead. Medway
looked heard the clatter of rotors...

“Shit...” Close enough they couldn’t miss.
“Lameduck... emergency...” So close she could see the police
decals. “Shit...” Medway froze – a dangerous habit to get
into. Lameduck had no working cameras that could look upwards and
she craned her head, squinting through the windows. “Confirm
ident, Lameduck... shit... “ <Medway: Confirm ident. Confirm...
Lameduck...> No hail of ammunition... nothing... no threat...

<Lameduck: Aerial police units assigned to escort.
Ident confirmed.>

“Right.” The local force were just being very
careful. “Thanks. Great.” She was happy
to have them up there, watching over her. Really. “Shit...”
Adrenalin-pumping happy.

They kept pace as Lameduck diverted off the motorway and
then in towards Sheffield. On the outskirts Lameduck diverted again
and slowed as the route took them into the hills. By the time the
aerial monitoring peeled off, Medway had forgotten that they were
there.

The South Yorkshire regional headquarters were tucked
into a picturesque piece of the dales, buried into the hills,
minimising the visual intrusion – aside from the airfield for a
fleet of aerial support vehicles.

Lameduck headed for one of the many wide vehicle
entrances and parked in a vacant slot. There was a reception
committee waiting for her – and not a gun in sight. The last time
she had seen so many uniforms with so much brass and braid was at her
graduation parade. The Deputy Commissioner was at the front of the
party, a greying woman walking towards Lameduck with a faint limp.
Another ex-cybercop. For once in her career, Medway was sufficiently
awed not to run a quick scan to see if it was another prosthetic –
being sassy with sergeants like Porson was different from tangling
with a Deputy Commissioner. In the background were two police
transports, crammed with armoured figures.

"Sorry about the reception, Medway," the woman
said bluntly. "Managed to get a link through to Oxford ten
minutes ago." She eyed up Lameduck. "Unless you need a
new car you can be on your way without delay."

"Lameduck will do fine, Ma’am."

There was a brief burst of radar activity from the woman
– not many chief officers would still wear their sensornets. "It’s
a heap of shit, Medway – but it brought you this far. You can give
Superintendent Renton a lift." A nasty smile crept over her
face for a second. "Events have overtaken you, Medway, but you
might as well finish the job. Someone at Coriolis has been planting
bombs and assaulting people – a guy called Elsworth. Is that the
suspect you came looking for?"

"Yes, Ma’am."

"Superintendent Renton is going to head the
investigation." The Deputy Commissioner turned to a short,
immaculately groomed man. "Sort it out, Bill. Medway can have
whatever is left of Elsworth." She turned her attention back to
Medway. "Your record shows a history of pissing people off. We
have a major, high-profile company with problems which need delicate
and diplomatic handling...” The polished tones of a deputy
commissioner hardened into front-line cybercop. “We also have some
bloody nutter running loose. Superintendent Renton will see to the
smooth running of the diplomatic aspects." She gestured briefly
at the two bus-loads of cybercops. "I’m sending backup with
you. The information from Oxford indicates that this is more than
just a local disturbance."

"Thanks, Ma’am."

Medway turned back to Lameduck and caught a brief
whisper between the Chief and Renton. "Keep it smooth, Bill,
but any hint of trouble – shoot first. I don’t want our people
coming back with holes in."

"We are going into a place called Coriolis. We’ve
never had trouble there before. The chief executive is a personal
friend of mine, and of the Deputy Commissioner for that matter."

"I’ll try not to upset him, sir." Medway
suspected that the Deputy Commissioner didn’t care one way or
another, not the sort of officer to let a friendship get between her
and her duty.

"Won’t have to. Already as pissed off as is
possible. I spoke to him earlier. The comms are coming back on line
and the great man Lilywhite has placed one of his own hacks in charge
until things are sorted." Renton had a brief mutter about the
proper way to do things. "Until she decides to go back to
London, we have to deal with Acting-Director, Senior Vice-Bitch, Miss
Clare Farral."

“Fuck.” It was fortunate that Lameduck was doing
the driving. "What the hell is she doing here?"
Suspicions and coincidences piled higher.

"You know her?" Renton was surprised.
"Didn’t think you worked in such exalted circles. She was
here as Executive Assistant to one of the Lilywhite directors. What
do you know about her?"

Medway debated and then edited carefully. It would be
interesting to see Renton’s reaction to being told that Clare
Farral appeared to have gone from gutter-trash to senior corporate
executive over night – a pleasure that would have to wait until it
was necessary.

"Very capable…" How many people could have
talked a cybercop into letting a suspect polish her nodes?
"Unconventional. She was a personal friend of Kyla Chamile."
Not necessarily a high commendation – most of Kyla’s
recent associates had been crooks and whores.

"The murdered cop? Is there a significant
connection?" Renton accessed the net for a moment. "The
attack on your car. Lilywhite has issued an apology – you were
mistaken for a hostile group responsible for destroying their Reading
comms hub. They believed that you were going to threaten Miss Farral
and Director Critchley."

Medway shook her head. "Bollocks. That assault
chopper knew they were hunting a cop. They pulled every trick to get
me to identify myself – the sort of thing to make a cop stand out
like a beacon. Lilywhite is in this shit up to his eyeballs."

"You will refrain from making wild accusations like
that, Medway." Renton turned briefly pompous and diplomatic..
"Lilywhite could do the police service a great deal of harm."
His voice hardened. "Unless you find some solid evidence, then
we’ll roast him alive."

"I’ll deliver his balls on a skewer if I can,"
she promised.

"Something less colourful would be better," he
grumbled, then muttered under his breath, "I can see why the
Chief likes you."

Medway managed not to smile.

# # #

Clare woke up and blinked twice before her prosthetic
eye came on line properly. Roland Tiggles was standing over her,
next to the young nurse who had prepared her for surgery the day
before. The previous distance in her attitude had become a wary
caution.

"What’s going on, Tiggles?" she demanded
thickly. "I assume Una’s fine. If the bomb did much damage I
would hurt a lot worse."

"All sorted," Tiggles assured her. "That
was the only bomb."

"Phil?"

He shrugged. "Elsworth has vanished. We have...
underestimated him. He killed Doctor Cranfield last night."

"Bastard…" She had liked Toby Cranfield.
"How?"

"No idea." Tiggles looked uncomfortable.
"Looks like an accident – but the coincidence is too much.
We’re assuming it’s murder and trying to prove it. The boss
called in the police an hour or two back – on your behalf. They’re
just coming through reception now."

Clare climbed out of the bed with only the numbvest on
and ignored him as she sorted through a neat pile of clothes.
Someone had brought her business suits in.

"You’re in charge," Tiggles said warily.
"The nets are coming back on line. Lilywhite told the boss that
you were in charge until you say different."

"In charge?" She dropped a blouse on the
floor and swore at it. "As in – the boss?” That was
what he said, right? No-one poked my ears out while I was
sleeping... “As in... what the fuck?"

"Yes, Miss Farral. Director Farral."
His tone of voice said he was sure his actions the previous night
must have made up for his less than enthusiastic initial response to
her first contact.

"Calder ordered it?" Crazy. I am the
boss! What do I do now? And how to do I put my knickers on without
help?

Tiggles swallowed. "General broadcast to all
terminals. I think the chief exec had his notification first."

“What a way to start the day.” Clare stared at
Tiggles – could you just help me with my underwear? No.
Definitely not. “So...” I am the boss! The sudden
promotion was entirely consistent with the way her life had gone to
pieces in the last few days. Shit came out of nowhere. "Oh…
damn." Posh business clothes were there for a reason. "Shit…
I have to meet the police…"

"Yes, Miss... Director Farral."

"Nice to know that Calder has such faith in me."
She chose the plainest of the skirts – easy to put on – and the
flattest shoes. “Black or white?” Two similar pairs of knickers
hung from her fingers and Tiggles gave her a look that craved
body-armour and gun-fire. “Never mind. Underwear is over-rated.
It’s not going to be that sort of police interview.” She
put the skirt on and shoved her feet into the shoes. "How long
have I got? I’m bloody hungry." The numbvest was too bulky
to fit under any of the formal blouses. "What do you think?"
She patted the outer shell. "Too minimalist? The new thing?
Interesting fashion statement? The future of business-wear?"

"Breakfast will be waiting in the director’s
reception suite," he offered. "I can take you there now."
He glanced at the discarded clothes. "Anything else you want?"

"Another night’s sleep, a shower and a good shag
– not necessarily in that order." She kicked the door when it
opened too slowly. "Anything else I should know? I assume that
Lilywhite only put me in charge to make sure someone sorts Phil."

Tiggles hurried after her. "Director Critchley
left earlier. A combat escort arrived and took him back to London."

"Just as well. Calder can keep him safe there."

"Miela – the operator – she went with him.
Director Critchley agreed that she was probably in danger."

"Funny. I thought Bob couldn’t stand her."

"He looked uncomfortable," Tiggles agreed,
leading her into a generous conference room which opened out to a
glazed terrace, populated with low tables and comfortable chairs. At
the far end of the room, a pair of auto-chefs were parking
themselves, trailing the most tempting odours of bacon, coffee and
hot pancakes. "Breakfast…"

Clare put together a cholesterol time bomb and tucked
in. The conference table doubled as a dining table – they could
worry about the ketchup stains later. She was busily wolfing down
pancakes and maple syrup when Superintendent Renton was escorted in.

Renton cleared his throat. "Perhaps if you could
clarify why you called us?"

"How the fuck should I know?" Clare took an
instant dislike to the urbane police officer. "I’ve had a
rough twenty-four hours...” Was the new Director Farral
supposed to play nice, or hit hard? “They only just woke me up."
She glanced at Medway – no hint there either way. "If you
get to Phil before I do, could you make sure he dies a slow, painful
death?"

"That would be unprofessional." Medway kept it
straight, but there was a different answer in her eyes.

Clare sat down and took another bite of breakfast before
continuing, "OK. Here it is. I’ll give you the potted
history up until the point I passed out last night. Roland can tell
you the rest. Looks like he was up while I was sleeping."

Renton listened with an appearance of perfect patience
whilst Medway fidgeted until the smell of food overrode everything
else and she crossed to the auto-chef. Clare winked at her without
Renton noticing and carried on with her rendition of Elsworth's
crimes. The final minutes, wrestling with bomb and pain, she skipped
lightly over. The micro-fabricators were now no more than a faint
tingle beneath the numbvest.

"You dismantled the bomb?" Medway asked for
clarification. She gathered herself a generous second breakfast,
ignoring the obvious disapproval from Renton.

"Yeah."

"Fucking stupid."

Clare refused to grin at the sharp stare from Renton.
"True. There were good reasons. Roland, tell them the rest.
I’ll finish my breakfast. And Officer Medway... That’s ‘fucking
stupid, Director’."

Clare listened to the thrilling details of securing the
area after someone pumped her full of drugs – Tiggles and his team
searching for further devices, attempting to track Phil and generally
behaving like security personnel. Renton nodded with approval; the
only interest from Medway was when Tiggles mentioned blowing the
pharmacy doors to get an anaesthetic pack for the numbvest.

"So there was no real need to call you in at all,"
Clare summarised for Renton. "Probably just the poor sod I
supplanted being an arsehole and covering every angle. Still, you
might as well do your stuff. No telling what other little surprises
Phil might have left."

Renton stiffened at her disparaging tone, and the
reference to his friend the chief executive. "We will do our
best. There are other matters of concern. Attempts have been made
on Officer Medway’s life and those attempts have been linked to
Lilywhite."

Clare stared hard at Renton, glanced briefly at Medway
and then asked very carefully, "What sort of attempts?"

"A Lilywhite helicopter tried to blow me away,"
Medway said calmly, bottling up a resurgence of grim memory. The
replay was perfect, helicopter lifting into view and the hail of
bullets rattling down. She sat back in the chair as if the impacts
were real. "There were significant civilian fatalities."

"Oh." Clare scrubbed a patch of the table
with her thumb, scrutinising the spot intently. "Not good."
She looked up and met Renton’s eyes. "Another hint that
things are not well with Lilywhite. My personal ah... surgical
experience was never authorised by Calder but Phil had what
looked like a valid set of authorisations."

"As the Lilywhite representative here, I expect you
to assist our enquiries into this matter," Renton told her
formally.

Clare shrugged. "I don’t suppose I shall be here
long."

"How long do you intend to stay?" he demanded
sharply.

The obvious answer should have been: until this is
sorted out. That’s what a proper corporate executive would do, but
Clare wasn’t in the mood to play the Corporate Game, and that
wasn’t why Calder sent her... "Until I see Phil’s balls
nailed to the wall, or I find out where he went next."

"Any guesses?" Medway prompted, still
chewing.

"No. He’s an unpredictable bastard. If I had to
lay money on it… Lilywhite. He’ll go to London. There’s
nothing left to do here… and he’ll want to have another crack at
Bob Critchley." And Miela. "That has to have been
the whole point. Take out Bob and Lilywhite."

"This Bob is one of the Lilywhite divisional
directors as I understand," Renton offered for confirmation.

"Lilywhite’s expert in cyberwar," Clare
amended. "Possibly the difference between winning or losing the
next round."

The superintendent was shocked. "Next round?"

“Next round. Yes.” Of course there was a next
round....it was so obvious. “Anyone can see that.” Even if
Clare had only figured it out in that moment. “It’s time I
talked to Una, There was something it wanted to tell me before
everything went to pieces. Probably about Phil." She stood up
and brushed stray breakfast from the numbvest. "Just talk
amongst yourselves for a while. I’ll be back soon. Roland can
sort out all the arrangements and things."

"What did you mean by next round?"
Renton demanded.

She stared at him, getting close to her intended look –
are you really that stupid? "Did you think that was it?
The war’s only just begun. Opening shots. Testing the defences."

Clare walked out as fast as she could – whilst the
numbvest blocked the pain, it also caused mobility problems.

<Medway: I’ll stay with her.>

Renton was momentarily at a loss. <Confirmed.>

Medway hurried after Clare, catching up with her just
outside the door. "You meant that? About another cyberwar?"

Clare kept walking. "Of course. Phil Elsworth is
in this up to his artificial eyeballs – so if he’s still on the
loose…"

"And you have no idea where he went?"

"No," Clare said as they reached the lift.
"But with the facilities here and everything else that Lilywhite
has, the chances of catching the bastard must be reasonable."

"Can Lilywhite be trusted?" Medway homed in
on her biggest and most personal worry. "All the trails lead
back there. And out from there. Someone tried to kill me on the way
here – a gorewar team from Lilywhite."

"Doesn’t surprise me." Clare tapped her foot
impatiently – the lift was slow, data was slow, everything
conspiring to get between her and Phil. "No, I don’t think
that Lilywhite can be trusted – the company rather than the man.
Something not right." She hesitated and then, "Come on.
You might as well meet Una." The doors shut. "Phil had
valid authorisation for my enhancements. Good enough to fool Doctor
Cranfield – I think they were probably genuine. The only problem
is, Calder Lilywhite agreed a code with me to say whether or not he
had given permission." She leant back against the wall of the
lift, a wry smile on her face. "I know it’s crazy, but I sort
of trust him. Calder and Emily are an odd pair, but very reliable."

"But someone down there is playing for someone
else?"

The lift stopped and Clare stepped out. "There are
three people that I think matter down there. Calder is a bit aloof,
very rich and I trust him – with my life I suppose. Emily is weird
and – well I won’t weep at her funeral – but she got everything
sorted out when I came up here. And then there’s Bob Critchley. A
complete arsehole, but very bright and utterly loyal. I wouldn’t
trust him with anything – except being straight."

"Doesn’t narrow the field much," Medway
complained.

The doors to Una were now defended by a pair of armoured
security guards. They waved Clare through quite happily, but stared
suspiciously at Medway.

"Officer Medway is with me." Clare strode in –
that was the way of things, either keep out of sight, or look like
you own the place. “Keep up...”

"He’s checking," Medway muttered as they
walked through. Clare glanced at her in surprise – how do you
know?. "My sensornet – picks up the transmissions."

Clare patted the numbvest. "None of my stuff is
turned on yet. Phil played a merry dance on it, but I can’t get
anything out of it since."

"Won’t make a lot of difference." Medway
briefly scanned the implants. "Conventional commercial model.
You’ll need a few months and some expert tuition to use it
properly."

"You might be right about the time and training,"
Clare said firmly, "But I don’t think they put in anything
conventional."

"I can tell you the model number. Give me a few
minutes and I can even find the boot codes to start them up for you –
for all the good it will do."

"So if someone had top of the range military
hardware and wanted to hide it, then the nodes could be designed to
mimic a standard commercial device?"

"I suppose so..."

"The processor arrays they were fitting were
supposed to be experimental. Not so much top of the range, as what
the smart cyber will be processing with next year." The range
of possibilities was enormous. "Una? Can you confirm the
hardware they installed in me?"

"Those records have been erased," Una replied,
startling Medway. "The conjecture is offered that only Doctor
Elsworth or Doctor Cranfield would know."

"One missing, one dead," Medway said. "So
what does it mean?"

"Phil has left something nasty hiding in my
processors." Clare skipped a few steps in the logic and leapt
for the intuitive solution, feet first. "He expects me to go
back to Lilywhite and trash the systems there. Somehow."

"Real evidence would be nice."

Clare nodded, rubbing the undersides of her breasts
through the numbvest – wasn’t there some old quote about serpents
lurking or thorns pricking? Medway unconsciously mimicked the
action, tracing the site of her bullet wounds.

"Una? Can you boot my processors?"

"The codes are readily available," the
computer answered.

"Do it."

The virtual screen unfolded in her head as the
processors came on line. The initialisation diagnostics meant
nothing but when the screen settled there were four complex icons
floating in a sea of mottled blue. The faintest hint of curiosity on
Clare’s part about one icon brought it forward to fill the screen.
A naked blonde – lithe and buxom – danced a brief, erotic routine
to pulsing music which came out of nowhere.

<Farral: Hi, Una.> It was a while since she had
seen her net rep in all its glorious animation. She knew that it was
purely computer generated, but the initial illusion of it being Emily
Lilywhite was overwhelming. A little concentration and the final
static frame surrendered a copyright notice, confirming that it
really was done with the EroTech software.

<Una: This system is non-standard. Analysis
proceeding. Proxy packages released and active.>

The icon shrank, giving Clare the opportunity to inspect
the others. One was her optical processor, another the top level of
her own systems and the third was a simple request for access from
Medway. Clare let her in.

"Vast capacity. Heavy usage." The machine
was silent for several seconds, its proxy packages rifling through
her head… breasts. An explosion of data spewed across multiple
displays, quiescent operator interfaces jiggled in the air – the
nearest that Una could get to expressing frustration. "Bandwidth
on this connection is poor. Your implants are significantly superior
in comparison to the standard military specification. I find a level
of feedback through the cortical interface which is beyond the
capabilities of any commercially available system on file. There is
no indication of aggressive systems."

"So, you are not a cyber weapon aimed at
Lilywhite," Medway concluded.

"The systems are too complex to state that with
certainty," Una amended.

The screen in Clare’s head cleared until only her own
system and the optical processor were shown. Her digitally enhanced
mind was her own again, for all the good it did.

"Phil is a clever bastard – could have buried
something deep," Clare warned, but she was relieved that her
intuition was probably wrong. "So, tell me about Phil’s other
calls."

"I would prefer to talk alone," Una replied.

"You can trust Officer Medway," Clare said
evenly. "She came here hunting Phil for other crimes."

There was a long silence before Una responded. "Doctor
Elsworth had regular communication with a source called The Digital
Tart."

"Shit…" Medway looked briefly embarrassed
by her outburst. "Someone else I have an interest in."

Clare sat down at Miela’s terminal, ignoring the
trailing connections above her head. "Who is the Digital Tart?
The name is… very similar to one of the Lilywhite operations."

"I am aware of that," Medway said bluntly.
"Another reason for concern. The name ‘Digital Tart’ is all
we know about a criminal figure – or a group of people. The
Digital Tart is linked to Kyla’s murder and the illegal activities
at CyberLine. Now it’s thoroughly tied in with Elsworth."

"The comms sources for the Digital Tart were always
different," Una offered. "I was primarily monitoring
Doctor Elsworth. His mastery over net security was significant and
offered an excellent opportunity to evaluate my stealth monitoring
functions."

"So you monitored DigiTart on Miela’s advice.
Phil was on your own… initiative?"

"You have erroneous information," Una
cautioned. "It was not feasible to warn you at the time. I had
no option and allowed you to believe that the DigiTart monitoring was
devised by Miela. The original proposal was made by Doctor
Elsworth."

"He set it all up. Bastard." Clare
reined in – Medway was staring at her. "I’ll explain later.
Una? Can you tell me what Phil discussed with the Digital Tart?"

"The discussions were complex and covered many
topics. Often heavily encrypted."

"Did you break the codes?"

"That was not possible," Una said with a good
simulation of apology. "I could never have concealed the
processor usage. I was already concerned about Doctor Elsworth. I
am more adept at such things now."

"Was there any mention of attacks on Coriolis or
Lilywhite?"

Another long pause. "This is outside of my primary
functions," the computer warned. "Mention was made of
financial damage and hostile take-over. The subject of the
conversation was not my primary concern. It was an exercise in
stealth monitoring and data-source tracing."

"Did you trace the Digital Tart?"

"A different physical source was used on each
occasion."

"Not a lot of use," Medway said grimly. "Were
the sources even in the same general area?"

"All within London," Una confirmed.

"Miela lied," Clare said abruptly. "She
claimed the DigiTart monitoring was her idea." She stepped away
from Miela’s terminal. "And she went to London with Bob. Is
she a player in this shit?"

"She might not have remembered that it was Doctor
Elsworth’s idea," Medway suggested. "It might have been
a genuine mistake."

"That is not
likely." Una confirmed Clare's suspicions, a hint of triumph,
almost appropriate to the moment. "The topic was discussed at
some length. Miela thought that it was a pointless and trivial task.
She argued against it."

"Bollocks."
Clare was furious over missed opportunities. "Should have wired
the bitch up to Una while she was going through the break-fever.
Might have given Una a chance to go digging and tell me."

Medway shuddered
at the mention of break-fever. "So she lied…."

"Miela is a part of… it. Shit…"
Clare hammered her fist on the terminal, triggering random text on
the display. "I have to warn… Shit. Can't trust the comms,
can I? I have to get back to London."

"London," Medway agreed. "Both of us."

Clare laughed. "So, I get to be in charge of
Coriolis for a few hours and I’m only awake for the last one.
Shit. Still... I've got time for another breakfast. It will take a
while to sort out transport."

The next great commercial cyberwar has just started - bullets as well as bytes. Clare Farral is an operator on the DigiTart project, calibrating an AI system, the future of online sex services, and then her friend Kyla is found dead.
Lianne Medway is a police officer, Enhanced Division - a cybercop - called out to the murder of her old partner, Kyla.

This text is protected by copyright law and property of Mark Huntley-James.

Mark Huntley-James

I like stories, reading them, telling them, writing...
The rest of the time, I trained as a physicist and worked in R&D for a number of years before moving to commercial software development. Now I live on a smallholding on the edge of Bodmin Moor with my partner, multiple cats, chickens, geese and a flock of rare-breed sheep.

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